


Dreamscape

by Szept



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror, Survival, Survival Horror, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6519073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szept/pseuds/Szept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmare envelops Brockton Bay</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Not a sound can be heard in the small space she finds herself in, nor is there even one ray of light piercing the dark through which she sees without eyes. It's familiar by now, homely, like she's spent most of her life here though she can vaguely remember that not being the case. Her home used to be bigger for one, and she's quite confident that there were less people living in it, somehow, the thought of the three who sometimes come around feels wrong in a way that leaves her wanting to run. Funny thing is, she can never remember why.  
  
A whimper pierces through the silence, startling the girl lying in the bed into opening her eyes, this is no place for noise. There have been fights and shouting here but the silence can't truly be broken, something is wrong. What is wrong? She knows something is but her mind doesn't supply any clues as to why she thinks so. Confused, she raises onto her elbows.  
  
An incomprehensible sound forces her eyes open.  
  
She blinks owlishly, wondering at the noise that seems to surround her, so much of it. She stirs to discover something heavy constraining her moves, coarse and stiff. The girl tilts her head to look at it but finds herself unable to see through the darkness- her brows furrow when she can't will it away.  
  
“Please! Get me out of here!” Slowly, yet fast enough to leave her head spinning, she turns to the side, towards the source of the noise that she now realizes has been there ever since she opened her eyes. No- not just noise, yelling. A boy's yelling going by the youthful voice. Why is he screaming his lungs out in her house? She doesn't know any boys.  
  
“Please! We'll burn here let me out!” Burn? Her heart jumps in her chest before it occurs to her that there's no fire. Only screams about it, hardly the same thing!  
  
Blindness and pain take her impaired sight away for a moment when her pupils are unexpectedly assaulted by an explosion of light. She shields her eyes against it the best she can- by screwing them shut and burrowing her head into the hard pillow when she finds herself unable to lift her arms from under the weight that presses them down. An itch begins crawling upwards from her fingers once she notices its faint presence.  
  
Scratching her hands against her thighs works to an extent, but now that she's paid the pain some attention, its other sources decide to let themselves be known. The stinging ache in her stomach being the worst of it all, easily beating the burning in her eyes that have by now adjusted to the light, enough at least to let the girl wedge her eyelids open to an extent.  
  
There is a woman in the room (at least she thinks it's a woman), dressed in white and struggling with a small human sized shape thrashing on a different bed- with the yelling boy, she assumes, whose wailing has lost any signs of comprehensiveness. She observes the woman- the nurse, she realizes with a sudden bout of clarity- doing something to the boy that somehow contains his flailing, if not his screams. Belts? She's not sure, the world is too blurry even when she fully opens her eyes. Why is it- oh. Glasses. She wears glasses? She could see everything perfectly just yesterday so why does she remember wearing a pair for... basically forever?  
  
She decides to push the question away for the moment and focus on more immediate concerns, such as figuring out where she is. Dysfunctional her sight might be but it is enough to see some if she squints enough. The room is plain almost to the point of sterility, white walls and no furniture beyond geometric beds and nightstands. She has her doubts if the stands on wheels with bags (she thinks) hanging off them can be called furniture... Wait. She looks at the nurse again, her foggy mind only now making the connection between the woman's profession and her own likely whereabouts. It's a hospital, she thinks. But- how? Just a moment ago she was in her home, and now she's here?  
  
She falls completely still as she contemplates her situation. Something- something bad must have happened back home, bad enough for her not to even remember the event itself and to land her here with a sizable chunk of her memories carved out. She can't- Dad took her home and they ate dinner... was it poisonous? No. That's not it. She went to sleep that day and now... she's... here?  
  
Why are there two homes in her mind? They've never moved. Mom was saying something about looking for a bigger house but she can't recall her parents ever talking about it as of anything more than a distant possibility. Has she forgotten?  
  
So engrossed she is in her own mind that were it not for how weak she is, she'd have jumped into air when a hand lands on her shoulder. As it is, she only flinches and looks at the man- a doctor, she can see from this close up- who hovers by her side. It's quiet again, well, less noisy anyway as the boy seems to have fallen asleep.  
  
“Miss Herbert?” Hebert- her mind mechanically supplies. Without her first name, she notes with distress. “Are you alright?” No she's not, she can't remember her name.  
  
She tries to say as much, opening her mouth only to find herself unable to form any words. In part due to her parched throat, mostly because said words simply escape her. They're there in her mind- she knows them! It's just- they won't roll off her tongue. She tries regardless to a miserable, raspy effect of sounds that have as much to do with words as baby cooing. Breath hitches in her lungs.  
  
“Please don't be alarmed,” he continues in a calming voice. “Some trouble with speech is perfectly normal after waking up,” he pauses for a moment. “Please nod if you understand me.” She only blinks in response. Speech problems? “Miss Herbert-” Hebert “-please nod if you understand me.” She stares for a moment longer before finally, slowly nodding.  
  
A gust of cold air sweeps over them.  
  
The man sighs. “Emily could you please fetch a glass of- what are you- Emily no! Stop!” The doctor shoots away from the bed. Alarmed, she cranes her neck to see what's happening.  
  
It feels as if her heart collapses in on itself and her lungs rush in to fill the void. Her eyes widen and every muscle in her weakened body goes rigid. What the- what the fuck! A scream seeks to pierce through her clogged up throat but only a pathetic mewl gets out in the end.  
  
“Fuck!” The doctor bellows as he reaches the open window, a second later they both hear panicked yelling from the outside world, no, not only from there. More screams are coming from inside the building too, distressed, pained screams. Violent shivers overtake the girl's body at the same moment when her heart remembers how to beat, her mind finally catching up with what her eyes have witnessed.  
  
Her stomach churns, painfully reminding her of how empty it feels. Oh God, she's going to be sick. She tries to throw the too heavy cover off but finds her weak, hurting arms uncooperative. She does, however- in her panic induced state, manage to roll off the bed along with the sheets. The impact with the floor and the pain of pulling on her IV cord almost makes her regret the action but the pain is quickly pushed aside when her insides perform another flip. She forces her spider thin arms to lift her just inches above the ground the moment the retching hits, forcing acid out of her stomach but nothing else. Breathless, her angry-red scarred arms buckle and it's all she can do not to fall into the thick substance she's coughed up.  
  
“Stay back.” Wha- “I said stay back!” A panicked voice shrieks from the corner of the room, joining into the slowly growing cacophony of shouts both inside and out the building. She lifts her head to confirm that yes, it's the doctor that is yelling at... at something- not her. He's not even looking in her general direction.  
  
She tries to get up but only manages to raise her torso up by a few inches. God dammit, she has to get out of here, away from the crazy man, from the nurse's memory and the screams that only keep growing in volume. All that while she can't even get up onto her legs.  
  
“No!” The doctor grabs and empty IV stand as he would a weapon. “I said get away!” He lunges forward and the girl flails out of his way with a yelp, narrowly preventing her head from being stepped onto on the man's way to the door, she doesn't look. Doesn't care. Panic setting in, she hurriedly (slowly) crawls her way out of the sheets and underneath the bed she woke up on. Pulling her own IV down to the floor in the process and causing a blot of red to appear on the bandage around the strained PVC. But she doesn't stop, continuing her slow crawl until her back meets the wall beneath the bed, allowing her to see the room without being so easily seen herself.  
  
She puts her hands to her mouth, trying to muffle her heavy, tired breaths, the room is empty bar her and the sleeping boy and she wishes it to remain that way, now that she's had a moment to collect herself. What is happening seems obvious, a cape must have attacked the hospital, someone jumping out of window and another one screaming at something that's not there? Powers. Must be.  
  
Going by the still louder noise outside, it must also be happening elsewhere in the building. This is- God- she chokes back a sob and bites on the collar of her gown. She's trapped in a hospital under a cape terrorist's attack. And what else? Nobody sane or leading a gang would ever do that. Attacking a hospital is as good as signing a death warrant one oneself. The Protectorate and PRT crackdown is always damn near instantaneous in such cases.  
  
Her heart calms down just a tiny bit at the thought.  
  
Yes, yes the heroes will come soon enough and it will all be over. She can try running but- no it won't work. She can't even get to her feet and she's thinking about running? The exits must be blocked anyway. And the fact she remains unaffected by whatever is happening means she's been somehow missed. Best she keeps out of sight and waits until rescue arrives. They've had drills in school for situations just like this, stay low, stay silent and don't provoke the parahuman. She remembers being annoyed at it all, a vague feeling connected with doing something pointless. But she's grateful to have something to fall back on at the moment, glad that her spotty memory is supplying something useful instead of confusing, unmatching memories. She shakes her head weakly, it does the job of scattering the unwanted thoughts well enough, leaving her with vertigo instead. The girl bites at her chapped lips.  
  
Wait until the heroes arrive.  
  
She hugs herself tightly.  
  
Just wait till the heroes arrive.


	2. Chapter 2

"Holy shit." Assault stumbles to a stop upon seeing the hospital.

He knew this would be a shitty day the moment he was told of a _possible_ situation at Brockton General. He knew this would be a shitty week the moment he learned of the failed evacuation. And after seeing – _hearing_ the place by himself, he'd wager there is a real possibility that this might just turn out to be a shitty rest of the month. As far as Piggot and her mood is concerned.

Now of course, a parahuman attack upon a hospital is going to be bad no matter what happens. Thing is, it could be "We have hostages, you can't hurt us, hurr durr." sort of situation, which, while with potential to turn sour, is still not that bad, all things considered. Not when "Screw the hostages." is the other possibility. And at a glance, they're dealing with the latter today. That is to say, if the screaming, loud enough to be heard over the blaring hospital alarm, is telling him anything.

And the crying – the wailing, which he can now recognize among the hellish noise – has him wary. The cacophony of sound is filled with pain, the sort of agony one can't really understand before experiencing. But it's not just that, screaming, crying – in pain or otherwise. None of it should be happening in a hostage situation. No, these are the sounds more fitting for an execution.

His skin crawls at the thought.

But if that were the case, the people he spots by the building probably wouldn't be so close to it, a fair distance away, but nowhere near enough to be safe from gunfire. His quick glance confirms the crowd to be the hospital staff and their patients. Many of both restrained, some bloodied, unconscious even. Well then, he won't get a better chance to learn what's going on.

"Console, I'm at the site. I'm about to take a statement from the present hospital staff."

" _Understood, Assault. Proceed."_

The hero's abrupt arrival startles the small crowd into a short, if intense, frenzy. Making almost everyone not in some way restrained jump up and look half ready to leap at him. Right, he probably should have just walked up to them, _slowly_ , instead of dropping out of hyperspeed right in front of them. He raises his hands in surrender, knowing that some people might not recognize him at first in a stressful situation.

"Calm down, the Protectorate is here." Mentioning the organization usually calms people down a notch. "What happened here?"

It takes a few seconds, as well as exchanging a few glances between the hospital personnel, before one of the doctors, a small and balding man with a split lip and a bruise forming on his cheek, finally steps forth.

"We don't really know." He says in a scratchy voice. "We all heard the alarm go off and started evacuating. There were... a lot more of us, but when we went back in to help-" he cuts off, looking at one of the struggling patients, his legs and arms alike tied up with what look like shreds from a shirt. Assault kneels by his side and winces when the man doesn't at all acknowledge him waving a hand before his eyes. S _tranger danger_. "Most haven't come back, and then the screaming really started and- and people started pouring out, a lot of them out of it, so we tried restraining them so they don't hurt themselves like-" He pauses, having to compose himself before continuing. "Like the jumpers."

Assault's stomach drops.

"Jumpers?"

The doctor nods, pointing at the mix of opened and broken hospital windows.

"Yes. Some jump from low enough they live through the impact, we're helping them and whoever gets out too, but- we're not going back in there." Hell, he's supposed to order the civilians to get as far away as possible from a situation like this, but looking at some of the people present, he's not sure if it's safe to have them moved.

"You've done good." Assault lays his hand on the other man's shoulder. "All that could be asked of you. Don't worry, we'll handle this." The haggard doctor sags at the words, relief clearly visible on his face. Ethan has seen that look before, on the faces of those forced to take the responsibility they did not want. Good people all the same, stepping up when others wouldn't, couldn't. "Stay here and keep doing what you were doing, the PRT and police will arrive at any moment."

The man nods, and turns back to his charges. Assault, in the meanwhile, takes a few steps back and speaks into his comm.

"You guys got all that?" It's Armsmaster's voice that responds to his question.

" _And more, I'm on the other side of the building. No organized group here, a lot of what look to be mastered civilians. I'm currently securing them, my view of the hospital is obscured but I can confirm seven broken windows and five move wide open. How does it look on your side?"_

"The civies caught the stragglers here, I'm moving to confirm the casualties. Give me- shit!" he cuts off when a madly yelling figure crashes through one of the hospital windows on one of the upper floors. Without another though, he leaps underneath the jumper, just in time to catch him. An easy enough task for Ethan, one that would probably break both his and the other man's spine were it not for his power. It's similarly small effort to shield the guy from the falling glass. It's more difficult to keep him in his arms, seeing as the would be suicide causality does not stop flailing his limbs when Assault catches him, nor does he stop his panicked screaming.

"Whoa, whoa whoa- easy!" The hero tries.

" _Assault? What's going on?"_

"Caught a jumper and he's-" the Protectorate hero scores a hit to his head "-he's a handful." He lets the man to his own two legs, not to let him go, but to at least to stop him from hammering at his head. The cape's grip on the man's arm goes slack, however, when his gaze falls upon the ground for the first time. Or more specifically, upon the broken, mangled body lying not ten feet away from him. Just one of many, scattered across the pavement beneath the building's wall. Their faces frozen, some in terror, some in pain, and yet others void of any emotion.

His face goes ashen.

"I... have a confirmation on the civilian casualties." He manages with just the slightest of quivers to his voice. He's seen death before, but this? Mass suicide? All to the accompaniment of sounds that would not be out of place in any circle of hell? Nothing can really prepare anyone of stumbling into a situation straight from a horror movie. _But._ He has a job to do, help those who can still be helped.

With that though in mind, he forces the man he's saved to the ground, and quickly zip ties him. Just as the doctor has said, the man would just end up hurting himself if left on his lonesome, well, more than he already has. That done, he drags the guy to the rest of the group, counting the corpses on the way. Eleven. How many, he wonders, are there inside the building itself?

" _I confirm more victims on this side. Stay put, I'm forwarding this to the director - we need to put thinkers on this. Don't enter the building."_ Assault grinds his teeth. He might understand why, but it chaffs that he has to stay outside, while in all likelihood, people are getting hurt inside right this very moment.

"Got it boss, I'll help with the wounded. ETA on reinforcements?"

" _Two minutes, Miss Militia, Dauntless, and five PRT vans plus police are on their way."_

"Gotcha. I'll keep with the staff, help them out with the wounded."

" _Understood."_

He busies himself with assisting the doctors in any way he can. _Do you know first aid? Turn her over. Put pressure here._ It seems his presence alone aids the people present at the impromptu triage center in calming down a bit, or at least in helping them ignore the cries coming from the hospital and their charges' throats. Gagging everyone is not an option, seeing as some keep vomiting every now and then. He also secures the next two people who come out of the hospital's entrance. one panicked beyond any reason, the other calm, with a blank expression. Both completely unresponsive to his questions and barely responsive to his actions. Mastered.

He's leading the quiet one to the rest of the group when a new sound pierces through the constant of screams, a deep rumbling, resonating through the air, the source of which he can roughly determine to be somewhere in the hospital. Up.

A mighty explosion blows a sizable chunk of the wall outwards. The debris acting alike shrapnel in how the chunks of the building tear into the surrounding architecture, the force behind the explosion powerful enough for none of the concrete to fall straight down. Can't be a regular explosion, a Blaster power more than likely because holy shit is this one hell of a- holy shit!

Assault throws himself in the path of the concrete chunk heading straight towards the body of the hospital escapees. Just in time to knock the projectile off its course, far enough for it to harmlessly impact the ground away from the civilians.

He doesn't quite manage a graceful landing, falling to the ground in a heap of limbs instead, it doesn't hurt, of course. Still, he dusts himself off as he gets back up, flashing a confident smile to the-

He freezes at the sight of the carnage left behind by the second chunk of the wall, one he did not notice. It's hit the gathering, plowed through the people there, dismembering and maiming those it hasn't outright killed. How did he not- there was nothing! He saw it!

" _Assault?!_ Assault!" His eyes snap to his side at the familiar voice of his wife. She's standing not half a step behind him, her mouth set into a firm line. "What happened?"

"I- didn't notice the second chunk. I'm sorry." An ugly grimace crosses Sam's lips.

"Tell that to them." She accuses, pointing towards the dead, their empty eyes focused on him in silent accusation.

What is he supposed to tell them? Sorry? A bitter laugh escapes him. Right. Sorry I let you die. Sorry you've lost your legs. Sorry you're bleeding out. Sorry seems such a pathetic, small word.

"What are you still doing here?" He blinks at the sudden question. _What is he still doing here?_ "If you moved in before, you could have stopped this." He knows that. _What is he still doing here?_

Almost on their own, his legs carry him to the hospital's entrance.

The total silence is eerie as they enter the destroyed lobby. It looks as if a hurricane passed through, fallen over and broken chairs, shattered glass in the internal windows, smears of blood, from the glass no doubt, and two bodies. One with a neck sliced open, probably by the red stained glass shard just by the man's side, the other choked to death – going by the bruise around her neck.

"Christ." he hears Sam mutter. And yeah, he can agree. Who the fuck just guns down an entire lobby full of people? He can't imagine any of the local gangs being responsible for the slaughter, it would be a death sentence even for Lung. And the bullets themselves, it's like they've made their victims into mush. Not just regular guns then, unless the attacker has brought in a minigun, in which case, they would still be dealing with a Brute.

"Be careful, they're heavily armed, might be tinkertech," he speaks up as he turns back to his wife. Or rather, to where his wife stood a few seconds ago. "Battery?" The man calls out into silence, with nothing but echo returning. Where the hell-

A scream pierces the silence, turning his blood into ice.

"Sam!?" he shouts into his communicator, a beat passes without an answer. "Puppy what's wrong?" Nothing.

He rushes to the stairs, and up, to where he already knows the pained cry came from. To the collapsed part of the hospital where the tinker explosion tore the building apart. And although it takes him but a moment to reach the place, it is still entirely too long, every fraction of a second elongating into everlasting moments.

But eventually, he arrives. To an image that he has only ever seen during those long nights when he could not fall asleep again, after waking up in cold sweat, after seeing his love die.

Ethan's eyes fall upon the figure crouching over Sam's dismembered corpse.

The last of his thoughts flee as he leaps forward with a howl of anguish and rage.


	3. Chapter 3

"Assault! Do you copy?" Armsmaster repeats fruitlessly. Shit. What was that explosion? Has his colleague been caught in it? His line hasn't gone red, meaning that his radio, at least, must still be functional. “Console, I'm changing position to where Assault last came in. Ping his comms every ten seconds.”

“ _Roger that, Armsmaster, proceed with caution.”_ Naturally.

The hero casts a look the captured civilians' way, taking his eyes off the bodies he was counting - sixteen in total, unless he's missed some in the green light of his noctovisor. He's had to improvise with the people he caught when his zip ties run out. Still, damaging one's clothes in lieu of letting them harm themselves is completely within operational parameters. Better to lose a strap off a shirt than run in front of a car in a – undoubtedly, as evidenced by their unceasing screams - cape-induced frenzy. A recent, or even fresh trigger, were he to wager a guess based on the location, as well as lack of a previously recorded power with effects quite like what they're dealing with.

There are still some people he knows he's missed, but they're far enough away that a pursuit would draw him too far away from the hospital. Unacceptable. The police, with the help of the PRT troopers, will have to take care of them. He's more needed here, especially now, with Assault having gone silent.

Colin quickly calculates that he'll reach the front of the building faster if he backtracks a bit to his motorbike. And since time is of the essence...

“ _Miss Militia here, we're approaching from the side, to the ambulance driveway.”_   Good.

“Set up a perimeter once there, one hundred feet around the whole building.”

“ _Understood. It'll take some time, most of us are still en route.”_

“Doesn't matter.” His bike roars as he starts it up. “The only ones around are the victims, no gawkers that I can see, focus on securing whoever gets out of the hospital.”

“ _Got it.”_

“ _I- didn't notice the second chunk.”_ Assault? So he's conscious, doesn't sound pained, or even winded for that matter. Why was he not answering? _“I'm sorry.”_

“Assault? What's happened?” But in spite of the hero clearly being alive, just as before, there's no proper answer – just a gravely laugh from the other hero. Armsmaster scowls as he becomes sure of what's wrong with the other man. He hates M/S situations. Against anything else, every other power, any at all villain, even the Endbringers, (with the exception of the Simurgh perhaps) he can fight. This? Nobody even knows what's there to fight, and nobody will, for as long as the parahuman responsible remains within the building. From what the victims Assault spoke with said, it looks like searching the building is not an option either. The only thing to be done is cordoning the area off, and now, retrieving his subordinate.

Which, he realizes as he rounds the corner of the building with a screech of his wheels, might be more complicated than he'd originally envisioned. He has, after all, prohibited entering the hospital himself.

“Assault!” Neither his shout nor the engine's roar does anything to slow the man, who does not seem to acknowledge, or even hear Armsmaster as he disappears in the building's entrance. A curse bubbles at the back of Colin's tongue, but there are more important things to be said than profanities. “Console. Assault has entered the hospital building, and seems to be under the Master/Stranger effect. Requesting permission to pursue.”

“ _Denied.”_ Piggot's voice makes him grit his teeth. _“We know too little to allow ourselves reckless action. If the MS hits you before you can retrieve Assault, we'll lose the both of you. Focus on evacuation and confinement, understood?”_ He doesn't answer. _“Armsmaster, is that understood?”_

“Yes, ma'am,” he doesn't quite force through his teeth.

The hero has an obligation, as the team's leader, to make sure his subordinates come back home at the end of the day. This involves risking his own life for theirs. He understands Piggot's logic behind denying him his request, it does not, however, mean he agrees with it. It's one thing to be wary of a power, and stay clear of it if at all possible. It's another to just leave a teammate on a villain's mercy.

Colin glances at the still-smoking hole in the wall, some stories up, left in the wake of, he assumes, the explosion he heard just before his team member went silent. The concrete chunks from it, scattered in the wide area around, sporadic chunks having flown as far as to hit the surrounding buildings, more than a hundred feet away. Following the rubble, his eyes zero in on the bodies on the ground, lying much the same as rubble, scattered and broken beneath the building's wall, in exactly the same fashion as on the other side of the complex.

He truly despises M/S situations.

Armsmaster slows his bike to a stop a short distance away from the group of people he assumes Assault had been helping. They appear to be... worse for wear. The remaining few not caught in the M/S effect, struggling against those less lucky. A lot of them tied down and screaming, in rage, in pain, and probably other emotions he can't pinpoint as well. It's hard to tell for sure if it's even them that he's hearing over the blaring alarm.

“Console, I'm moving in to restrain the stragglers.”

He easily stops a short, balding man with a split lip and a bruised cheek, who was making a run for it from the hold of two larger men. The hero uses the doctor's own coat to tie him down, then repeats the process on the others, until all the troublemakers are safely restrained and on the ground, harmless to themselves and their surroundings. It doesn't take much effort, but by the time they're finished, the police and PRT sirens can be heard in the distance – a minute away, at most.

“What's happened here?” The few lucid staff members exchange glances, but when no-one speaks up, a grimace passes his lips. “You.” He points to a somewhat less haggard looking, if still visibly shaken nurse. “What's happened here?”

“A- an alarm went off-”

“After the arrival of Assault,” he clarifies. “We already know from his talk with you what happened before.” Huh, he must be somewhat shaken as well, for him not to specify a question right away.

“A-ah. He- he helped with gathering t-the wound-ded. And then, then the wall, i-imploded and burst-burst out li-like that.” She points towards the surrounding, damaged buildings. “He- saved us from debris, a-and then went quiet, started laughing, went inside.”

“And them?” The hero asks, pointing to the people he helped in restraining.

“They started going, cray-crazy too, t-there are- too few of u-us to-”

“ _Be careful, they're heavily armed, might be tinkertech.”_ He startles at Assault's voice. He makes to speak up, hoping that, perhaps, whatever effect has overtaken the man's mind, is losing its hold. He raises an open palm towards the woman with him, making her stop talking. It's hard enough to hear her over the cacophony of the alarm, the cries and the ever louder sirens, let alone the much quieter voice in his comm. _“Battery?”_ His mouth closes. Battery? Today's the woman's night off. Unless there's something he doesn't know, she's currently in the pair's house, soundly asleep. Confident that her husband will return to her come morning. _“Sam!”_ Shit. _“Puppy what's wrong?”_

“Revoke Assault's comm clearance from PRT officers,” he barks out. A Protectorate hero's name is not something anybody beside higher ups should know. “And confirm Battery's whereabouts.” He's absolutely sure the woman isn't on duty this night. Yet, there are things he's certain of, and then there are things he must be sure he's certain of.

He turns back to the people with him, only to find the nurse is no longer with him, she's – he looks around – ah, she's tending to the wounded again. Good, for her to remain with enough presence of mind to help the other victims instead of fruitlessly waiting on by his side...

...wait.

He shoots forward, striking out with the stun gun located on the butt of his halberd, instantly knocking the woman out, then kneels by the side of the man she's been 'tending to', a strap of ripped cloth already in his hand to tame the flow of blood coming from his neck, the wound a jagged gash left by a piece of broken brick. His mind, however, is focused on the woman still. It seems everyone in the hospital's been affected. The effects simply manifests at a different rate. He looks to the others still sane of mind. Many of them are swaying on their legs, looking at the bound, helpless people as if-

He stands up, his weapon at the ready.

He can't trust any of them not to be under the M/S effect. The only option is to restrain them all now, while they've not yet become violent. Not much work to be done. Only five people are left, all exhausted, none with any weapons.

“Remain as you are. I'm placing you under Master/Stranger protocol. You're going to be cuffed, and detained by the PRT.”

None of them listen. Instead, all five throw themselves either at him, or at the defenseless wounded. Disabling them is pathetically easy. First he deals with the ones trying to harm the patients, only then stunning those trying to stop him from doing so. But there is no time to properly secure them, as the others, this time armed, are already coming at him. He doesn't have enough zip ties with him to bind all twenty. Higher voltage will be necessary, perhaps even more traditional means, like head trauma.

Not wasting time, he goes into the fray, knocking out one assailant after another, all the while avoiding the sprays of containment foam. A much more difficult task than the rabble he'd dealt with seconds ago. Difficult enough for some of the stray foam splotches to actually get him. Nowhere near enough to stop him from neutralizing the danger of the maddened patients, but still, an inconvenience for when he'll be dealing with the cape sending these people against him.

Just as he hits the last of the group who attacked him over the head, he notices something out of the corner of his eye. Finally, support has arrived.

“Miss Militia. Stand down, I have the situation under control.” The woman does not, in spite of his direct order, lower her rifle. “I repeat, stand down.”

But she does not hear him.

Wary, the hero raises his halberd.

 


	4. Chapter 4

There's no way to tell how long she's been hiding when the lights give out, drawing a startled whimper out of the girl cowering underneath her hospital bed. Still, she doesn't dare move out. It served her well enough to hide when the whirlwind of people came through the hallway outside, soon becoming a hurricane. It's gotten quieter now, at least; that the alarm bell has finally gone silent., though in its absence, the cries and chaos coming from the other parts of the hospital have only become more pronounced.

She tries burying her head deeper into her shoulder in a vain effort to block out the horrible sounds. Her hands have nowhere enough strength to muffle the noise, and still burn from trying, how long after giving up – she can't say. Every second is too long, with every minute eternity without a way to help neither herself nor any of the people caught in the cape attack. It's wrong, so wrong, for this to happen in a hospital of all places. A place of quiet, of healing.

There weren't any gunshots, at least, though the fact is of precious little comfort when a single parahuman can cause such pandemonium with just their power. Still, it's a better option than having such a cape also be backed by a gang. One person is much more likely to miss a lone girl hiding under a bed, especially in the dark. She's already been overlooked once, after all.

...It's a better chance than she has trying to flee on her own. The terrorists have to leave, eventually. The heroes will come, eventually. And while it may be cold with the winter air coming through the open window, and only a thin gown to cover her shivering frame, freezing takes more time than being thrown out of a window, or shot, or having her throat slit, or being beaten to death, or- many other things. Less painful, too. No. She'll stay. There's a reason for the officials discouraging the populace from playing hero. They said in school that they should wait until the police or PRT officers come and say it's safe; that they should not try to run unless it's more dangerous to stay. The girl is inclined to agree. All she could possibly do here is get in the heroes' way, although even that seems like a stretch right now. She feels as if she'd went through the most exhaustive workout of her life, while in reality, all she's done is crawl under the bed she'd fallen off and tried to cover her ears.

Unconsciously, she cradles her spidery-thin arms closer to her chest, both to comfort her uneasy heart, and to conserve what warmth she can. She's gotten used to being skinny – gangly, even - but this? It's like there isn't much more left beneath her skin other than bones. What happened, and how long ago? Just yesterday she was visiting the library with Mom, then played with Ems, and it was sunny and warm, and... it is- it is cold out, now, here. Winter. Just how long has she been here? No matter how much she tries, no memory of what put her here turns up, only a dull ache under her skull.

Focus! The last thing she remembers – Emma, and her friends. There's... dark, and laughter. Were they playing hide and seek? And then- many things. Dad, Grandma, her new room, new house? It feels vaguely wrong, as if she's missing something.

Of course she's missing something; the memory of how she came to be here. An accident? Possibly. Likely. She read somewhere that people often don't remember their accidents. Brain trauma. Is this what happened to her?

She bites on her hand to silence her bitter choke of a laugh. Because of course, of course she'd recover, wake up, whatever, just in time for a terrorist attack. What sort of luck one has to have to first be hospitalized, and then for this to happen? It's got to be like winning a lottery.

The girl sniffs her running nose, then once more. Her eyebrows scrunch up as she tries to recognize the off-putting smell. It seems familiar, reminiscent of detergents, but at the same time not quite. Her mind blanks out for a moment when she finally places the scent; burnt plastic and metal. And chemicals. Possibly more.

The hammering in her chest becomes painful and her breaths haggard as panic floods her mind. Have the terrorists set a fire to the hospital, or is this a result of a fight? She hasn't heard any fighting, and wouldn't she? The heroes would surely make their arrival known, try negotiations before moving in, and if it's the villains... are they leaving? They wouldn't just set the building aflame and stay. A distraction for the rescuers to deal with?

A cough claws its way out of the girl's throat - a dry, aggravating bark which leaves her breathless and her throat raw.

What should she do? A fire is sure to be spreading. Uncontained, it could devour the whole building. Whoever set it must flee, or they too will burn. So where are the heroes, or police, or just- anyone? Are the terrorist delaying their escape? Is this a suicide attack? Regardless of who set the fire, of whether or not it's a result of a fight, it will force the terrorists to flee (unless they have a cape who can control it, that is), in which case the rescue will come shortly, surely, obviously. But... this is a hospital. Something like this is grounds for the Birdcage, or more likely a death sentence with what's happened. The villains must know that, and if they're not running...

She can't stay here. She can't wait for the heroes to come, not if there's a good chance that whoever is responsible for all this plans to kill everyone. Clearly, their power doesn't work on everyone, which may be the reason behind starting the fire.

What should she do? What can she do, and which is worse? Being potentially caught by a mass murderer or being trapped in a fire? No! She doesn't want to die, and she's not choosing a way to go, just... she's not.

A flash of white disappearing in the window stands before her eyes as if still there. An unheard scream pleading with the fire joins the ones in the air, devolving from terrified begging to incomprehensible, animalistic cries of pain.

The girl closes her eyes, filling her mind with different, better memories. Emma, Mom, Dad, and their smiles to help her force down the bile. She lets out a shuddering breath, before wiping her eyes against her shoulder and crawling out from her hiding spot, her heart like a drum.

It's not completely dark. Her eyes have had time to adjust, and there is some light coming in from the outside, but it still takes the girl a moment to place the room as it was when she woke up in relation to herself. She can sort of see the outline of the door, and the bed on which the other patient in her room lies asleep, probably drugged. That's what the doctor was doing, wasn't he? Did he also tie her up? She can't remember.

She crawls up to her bed's edge, trying to grab the frame, but while she manages to lift her shaking arms, her fingers don't seem to remember the right motions. The girl falls flat on her chest, the simple action having made her breath labored and muscles yearning for a moment of rest. If only she could move her legs - properly move them. She's not paralyzed, thankfully, but her body is far from what she needs it to be.

This time, she rolls onto her back before trying to lift herself up using her stomach, to a marginally better result. It's enough to rest her body on her elbows when it falls back down. The third time, the girl manages to prop her back against the bed-frame, and then to awkwardly push herself up to a sitting position. Next she pulls her legs up, or, at least, she tries to. They lack the strength to make the last few inches needed to lock them in place.

Dismayed, she lets her emaciated limbs fall to the ground, and her eyes drift to the shadow lying on the other bed in the room. Should she try and help her? How? She can barely move on her own, let alone wheel a bed. Still, leaving her for her nightmare to come true feels wrong. But what else can she do? Realistically, there's only one way in which she can aid, and that is to get to someone else to do something more than keep the girl company as the flames close in on them both. What good would that do?

Her mouth opens. I'll get help. She doesn't say, the words stuck somewhere in her brain.

A light push against the bed sends her to the floor, from where, quickly as she can, the girl begins to crawl to the way out. Her arms start burning with exertion nearly instantly, but it's nothing she can't deal with. She will have all the time in the world to rest once she gets out. For now, she'll endure, meter by meter however many there are, until she's safe.

By the time the girl drags herself out of the room, she comes to a realization that it's not her arms that she needs to worry about. Yes, they ache, and yes, her gown is clinging to her damp skin like a cold blanket, but it's her chest that hurts. Every breath feels like it's stretching something it isn't meant to, and she's starting to worry about her heart. She can feel every beat in her fingertips. She would probably hear each heartbeat too, were it not for the distant cries assaulting her ears.

The girl raises her head upon passing the door, looking for any indication of which way to go. The hallway is far darker than the room behind her without any windows to let some light in. The air is worse, too. Thicker, almost acrid without the draft. It makes her head hurt.

There! A fluorescent green in the dark of the hall. She can't see what's on it from here, but she'd wager it's an exit sign. They have the same in school, and they glow in winter when she and Emma sit in the corridors in the twilight of early mornings.

She ignores her aching arms as well as the chemical burn of the air as she start making her way to the glowing point on the wall. The smell is worse here, but at least it's not as cold as her room, or might it be that it's just her body that's burning up? It's only been, what, half the way, and already it feels like she put her gown on after a shower with the sweat tricking even into her eyes.

A sudden crunch beneath her right palm is all the warning the girl has before a bolt of pain stabs through her limb. She draws her hand to the chest, grinding her teeth to keep the cry in.

Carefully, the girl prods at her palm, a hiss escaping her lips when she disturbs something - glass shards, she belatedly realizes – embedded in her skin. Fuck. She can't see a damn thing, not on the floor, not stuck in her hand, nothing.

Experimentally, slowly, she tries flexing her hand – to instantly regret her choice when a lightning of pain shoots through her palm. A few seconds pass before she moves again, more carefully this time, lightly gliding her good fingers over her hurting hand. One, two, five. Can she take them out like this without cutting herself? Maybe through her gown? That could work.

It takes entirely too long for her liking, but eventually, the girl manages to remove the bigger shards, at least, from her hand. It's enough to let her use it again, if only to a point. Still better than nothing, at least she can rest her weight on the arm without falling over.

Next, the girl carefully swipes at the floor before her, checking for any more glass in her way, and to move that which she can't. It's wet with some cold liquid, a broken bottle at a guess. Just as she's about to resume her crawl, her hand lands on something, something soft, something covered in cloth.

The world freezes, every horror distant if only for a moment as the girl holds her breath. As her breaths releases, it's as if the reality slowly trickles back to her, and the world comes back into focus once more.

Hesitant, she reaches out to the shoulder she touched, feeling for the wrist, and hoping that the skin beneath her fingers is only cold because of the winter air sweeping through the corridor. However, as she moves further down the arm, the skin becomes jagged, split in two, and smeared with a cool substance. She draws back, her breath hitched.

How many more? Is this how the entire hospital looks like? Littered with bodies just- lying there on the ground for the living to trip over? How many has she passed, unknowingly? How many are there in the closed rooms? The girl looks back, but just like before, sees nothing in the shadows.

She forcefully empties her mind of the panicked thoughts. Those are questions for later, for once she gets out of this hell. She can't help the dead, and every minute she dallies...

...Is that a light?

Her eyes narrow, trying to bring a little more detail to the scene. She could swear there was none when she last looked. It's flickering, and faint, though growing in brightness by the second as the girl keeps her eyes trained on it.

A cold hand grips her insides the moment she recognizes the spreading flames for what they are, denying her breath for the precious seconds she spends petrified.

At once, she throws herself forward, scrambling over the body in her way and caring neither for the sharp pain lightning up in her hurt arm, nor for the sharp tugging in her chest, all her thoughts overtaken by one, overwhelming urge.

Escape.


End file.
